


for reasons wretched and divine

by madfatty



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:03:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madfatty/pseuds/madfatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why Rae? Just some over-emotional thoughts about why it was Rae Finn chose.  Set in Series One because I'm still traumatised by Series Three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for reasons wretched and divine

At least he sees it coming this time. Not that his Nan wants to leave him, but she’s going to. It’s just a matter of when. He can see her fighting, can see her losing, and he can feel himself pulling away from everything. He has to save himself this time. Weakened by her weakening state, he feels sedated, like the tubes invading her birdlike arms somehow connect them and the chemicals coursing through her delicate veins burn through his with just as much fire and force, and he is left dulled and diminished, dismantled and so far away.

His anger is hardened muscle and taut sinew wrapped around his atrophying heart with barely room for it to beat. His pain is a living thing, denied and tightly caged within.

His body _moves breathes sleeps fucks_ without his active participation. He wills himself separate and unseen, until in the midst of a crowd he barely exists and the bodies that surround him with their raucous, unbridled desire for life seem distant and muted; voices from another room. It becomes an empty buzz that hovers, ignored, above his head. He believes himself safe. Untouched. Content to live his life at arms’ length.

On the serrated edge of all this white noise, the unexpected idea of Rae slams into him, takes hold of him, consumes him. She is a slap in the face, sharp and stinging. She is all noise and riotous colour, sharp and vivid and loud, commanding his attention. Demanding a response. He feels the impact from across the void.

He is receding, slipping further away. The others stand calmly by watching him drown, either oblivious or unmoved, but with barely contained contempt; she has reached beneath the dark surface and pulled him back into the world, lungs burning and bursting for breath. She is real and relentless, and without his permission, she is happening to him. She is confrontational, combative even and he makes an attempt at the pretense of railing against her, but with little dedication, his heart not in it. It’s all for show. Because the truth is, she makes him feel more than he is prepared for, more, than he may be equipped for. He has no control over it and neither does he want it.

It’s a steep, jagged climb from apathy to where he stands now. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but he does know that it is drawn out of him by her. This sudden need to hold on. It’s primal, something instinctual ,intuitive. She is so full of life and he is losing his way.

Her gaze is a challenge, fierce and unwavering; she makes him feel at once ridiculous and wide open and yet capable of achieving anything. It is overwhelming ,intoxicating and it makes him giddy, makes him vibrate with an anxious anticipation he’s not sure he can survive. She scares the shit out of him and yet how brave would he be with her by his side? Who else would he ever need if she were in his corner?

She is a gift. Precious. Coveted. Possession is a dangerous word, but if he can find a way to make her give herself to him freely he will gladly call himself possessed. She is proof that life goes on. That it can be beautiful as well as frightening. The battle for her attention is an unfamiliar struggle; new and uncomfortable She holds the others with such gentle care and his fingers itch to feel the tenderness she gives so freely to everyone but him. His pride is long gone;, he’s not far from begging.

His stomach sickens when he hears fittest; it’s all noise - _endless senseless pointless_. It burns to think that she might see it as the sum of him and that there is no value to it in her eyes. No value to him. Where is the telling mark on him, he yearns to know, the glaring proof that he’s not worth it? He has looked and looked for years but he cannot find it. She must see it. It must be all she sees. If he could just blind her to it, until he could find a way to cut it out. Cleanse himself so he can be something she could love.

His heart plummets when she stiffens at his touch. She is indifferent and offhand and no matter how he tries, he can’t seem to reach her. Can’t she feel the tidal push and pull of it, buffeting against her whenever they are together? The same one that threatens to swallow him completely until he no longer is. Can’t she hear him scream to her across the infinite distance she insists remain between them? How can she invoke such longing and be able to dismiss him so completely? His need is a tangible thing; huge and looming, a constant shadow on him and still she wilfully ignores him. She’s already saved him once, doesn’t she realise that makes her responsible for him now? That he is hers to care for, to keep safe. That he is drowning once again, but this time it is not by his design. She is cruel.

She is kind. When the inevitable happens and his fragile world shatters, she is there and he readily surrenders all his dignity, all his conceits, to mourn inside the safety of her arms. He allows himself to be soothed by her; a lost little boy handing over his pain, all his basest fears, every ugly thought, he offers up to her. His years of grief and guilt gratefully delivered into her quiet care.

She hears his hesitant confession in the silence of her room, offers him benediction with her longed-for sweetness, and by morning his devotion is complete. Is it so surprising now that he has to have all her focus, all of her attention, all of her time? Is it desire, or is it deeper than that? All he knows is that he can’t sleep, can’t think of anything past the next time he will see her and how he can devise a way to touch her, and so he becomes a constant at her side until she cannot turn around without his being there, underfoot. Eager. Besotted.

He should be embarrassed. The way he blatantly parades himself, begging to be chosen, her favoured one. The way he pushes himself into her touch; stretching like some languid cat, offering up more and more of himself for her to pet; he can barely hide the Cheshire grin at his flesh heating at her mere proximity. He should be embarrassed but he’s not. Instead, he blossoms in her shadow.

She sears, she soothes, she tears down his walls and rebuilds his hope. He has never felt this way before and prays to god he will never feel this way again. She is undoing him, softening him. Red and raw. He is in danger and he could not care less. She is too much and he is not enough and he knows that girls like her want, need, deserve more than boys like him, but he will fight and scratch and claw for a chance with her. A little voice in side him roars, that there’s no way that he can hope to engage her, to sustain her interest. _Her forever isn’t yours to plan_ , it screams, and yet still he plans.


End file.
